


answering machine

by ruruka



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Omorashi, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 17:56:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7943857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruruka/pseuds/ruruka





	answering machine

she should really learn to sit like a lady; one endless leg of cream crossed over 'nother, no physics to being dainty.

she should really learn to sit like a lady, but she loves to make boys squirm.

and, good god, do they ever.

three little miserables all in a neat row, writhing and whimpering and gnawing their lips raw. she knows they twist not to such grueling manner as the sight of her lacy black panties from where she claims seat on her literal throne; it's just an added bonus to drive them worse, though her observations conclude that it's just the gawdy redhead on the right who finds his kryptonite between her thighs. best to not call attention to it, either way.

better instead would be to call, in that jarringly shrill voice of hers, "you jackasses are taking too long! what's with you guys? _ugh!_ "

then the princess sinks in her seat, palm eating cheek, face stricken with pout. "i can't stand waiting! i just can't stand it! i might have to do something _fun_ to keep myself from _dying_ of boredom."

"enoshima," the small one coughs up. the annoying protagonist type, she thinks. the one who washed the despair from her dear sister's heart. ending him would be an indulgence. but, he's said her name, addressed her all stupid-proper like, so she might as well humor him. "enoshima...you promised you'd stay away from everyone else if we did this...don't go back on your word!"

what an utter _dork_. she fixes upon him a fire of eyes, then her nose turns north like all the snotty narcissistic bitches do. and she wears the title better than anyone.

"sweet little naegi-chan, how naive! you think i'd break a promise! what kind of girl do you take me for?"

"a crazy _bitch_ ," and there's absolutely no imaginable way possible ever that sweet little naegi-chan's said this- and he hasn't, so her glare shifts left to the one who has, because bitch just doesn't have the same ring to it when it's not being used in self description, particularly when it's togami byakuya using it.

but then her head does a cute spin round, and she decides it isn't agitation mewling through her tendons. and she laughs like the snotty narcissistic angel she is. "what a mean thing to say!" her arms fly to shield herself in a coddle. "i don't deserve to be picked on by some mean, yucky boy!"

it's next that one on the right, playing muse again for her spotlight irises. "you deserve everything you got comin' to you!"

" _hm? wha?"_ one claw tap-taps her chin in thought. "you'd want bad things to become of me, right after you just got your rockers off eyeballing up my skirt? talk about dine and dash, yeesh!"

she succumbs to howls another time, because she's her own number one fan. he burns a haughty scarlet.

" _enoshimaaa_ ," that boring brunette whines again. the way his thighs shift and squeeze spark thunderbolts in her chest. "please...just don't hurt our friends, and we'll all do what you asked."

of the trio, the most composed sits poised in the center, legs crossed like the textbook example of elegance. if his arms weren't bound behind him, they'd match. "i don't see how urinating on ourselves will be remedy to anything in this twisted hell of a situation."

"'cause crazy bitch said so," kuwata supplies.

"'cause none-ya got the _balls_ to do anything about it! now less talk-y, more piss-y, got it?"

... _could be worse_ , the optimist thinks. truly, how bad'll it be? not like enoshima can go spilling it to everyone else, or that'd mean exposing herself as mastermind, too. and that was _his_ job.

wait-

"enoshima-"

"enoshima, enoshima, enoshima!" the owner of it drawls, twirling her eyes like wayward cueballs. "surely you've a bigger vocabulary than just my surname, makoto. go on, try something else on for size. try saying, ' _princess, may i please speak?'"_

"...puh...princess...may i please-"

"hell no!" her palms slaps sharp against the armrest. "i already told you all: shut your traps! ain't wanna hear _nothin',_ unless it's-" and, for this, she's a wonderful falsetto, "-' _oh, princess! i had an accident, whoopsie!'"_

they swap terse glances, knowing their fate inevitable despite their keenest wishes. enoshima feigns a yawn into a hand, noticing the uneasy expression identical on all her captives. " _sigh!"_ she says pointedly, "i guess i'll make things easy on you. only _one_ of you has to open the water park for business. then you're all free to go. sound good? yes, it does."

to two of them, perhaps. togami switches the fold to his legs, his meager outlet for pent up restlessness; two hours in the same position messes madly with the joints. then it dawns on him that, it's only been two hours, why in the absolute darkest center of hell are the two losers on either side already chomping at the bit? togami thinks them toddlers with no control over bodily functions, and if he weren't togami byakuya, the idea would amuse him.

when he's drug from his mind, and blinks away the fog built behind his lenses, enoshima's sitting pretty with a peach in her palm, and he's doesn't think he'd like to know where it came from. her teeth dredge out half of it in a single pull. juices stream rapid down her wrist. naegi murmurs a complaint that the other two hardly catch, then breaks off into a whimper and ducks his head lower than his tone.

"i'm not getting any younger," she reminds, chomping through the center of the rock hard pit. "come on, makoto. you pissed the bed 'till you were twelve. i'm rooting for you, here."

her shrill of humor sends bits of fruit into a catapult. "oops! i was supposed to save that little tidbit for a later date. sorry, not sorry!"

naegi's face screams pink, daring not to meet the eyes of his companions- _feeling_ them is plenty enough, since he can _feel_ togami's blazing disdain coupling with kuwata's starlit laughter. well, _that_ he can hear, on account of it splatting like a monster's guffaws in the back of his skull. at the very least, enoshima's raveled justice within her brutality. kuwata's bout of chortles makes him twice as bound to lose his virus-rattled sangfroid.

evidently- "uwah! what's this? is _sooomebody_ feeling hot under the collar?" flourish guides her fist into a point his way. "or, shall we say, _wet?"_

she wishes she could highfive herself for that one.

kuwata struggles furiously at his roped wrists.

"oh, give it a rest, little pitcher boy." those heels of hers go clack against the tile floor, click clack clack click, until she's yankii squatting with her hands resting on his knees. when she's near enough to lay stroke through his bushel of beard, he's the violent urge to spit bomb her in her stupidly pretty face. kuwata leon's an impulsive guy for sure, though knows well and true what'll end him up with a hacksaw through the neck. his lips are a shiny metal zipper. ironic, considering that's just what she tugs next at.

"whoa, whoa! you're moving a little fast there, bubblegum heart."

her eyes reduce to crescent moons that drink in the gleam of him, and she smiles just the same as the wolves they train. in one tug, he's a nudie model from the waist down.

togami and naegi hold both the same, clenching gazes in tandem flush.

"ugh! _little_ pitcher boy's a real fitting name, that's for sure." as if she could spare a single damn, he hoots out protest and a myriad of measurements to go along with it. but she doesn't care to hear his numbers, cares more to act on them. with her lips. and mouth. and, dear god, she's lapping at his cock, and it paralyzes him in delight. a friggin' supermodel is sucking him off, and hell yeah he's going to indulge, regardless of her sanity being plastered on the side of a milk carton.

from far off his left, he's gained one audience member, and one gape drilled into said crude spectator. togami'd never taken naegi for a voyeur- he supposes he _is_ a teenage boy, of whom are notorious for libidos to outlast life on earth. and he supposes naegi must not be as halfwitted as he thinks him to be (that's two misconceptions in a row, now, and he scowls at his own inadequacy) because the next second he relaxes back in his chair, like he's just made a great achievement, and the crotch of his jeans protrudes hotly north.

togami doesn't notice the heat creeping up his own collar until naegi looks sheepishly toward him, which he catches in his peripheral, as throughout his entire inner monologue he'd rested his sight in that same shameful spot. he moves to meet the stare he's thrown, and the owner of it's positively _miserable_ , hazel eyes a dull melancholy and lip a quiver, and togami has to wonder what in the fuck he's gone and excited himself for if he's just going to be agonized, and-

he feels the tendrils of understanding curl up his calves, because he can't piss himself if his cock's not limp, and despite how abhorrent the idea, togami's livid he's not thought it up first.

and then naegi's mouth wiggles into his natural delicate smile, face glowing one hundred degrees, because it's kind of humorous, if he's allowing himself honesty.

and then the heat between togami's newly uncrossed legs isn't arousal at all, and enoshima frees her mouth to spill from it cackles.

"you pissed yourself! you really fuckin' did it!" her back lands to the floor, and she's rolling and crying and clutching her middle, _because it's the funniest shit she's ever witnessed,_ if she's allowing herself honesty. "r-rich boy let it rip all over his fancy pants!"

kuwata'd laugh, too, were he not so put off by the loss of her mouth around him. naegi'd laugh, too, if it were an alternate universe where he's not so ceaselessly affable. in this timeline, he... _cringes_ , because, even if he's a beacon of pity, it's admittedly still pretty gross. really gross. he's not so sure how handsome he finds togami anymore, with that dark blotch seeping slowly to his knees.

his glasses slip to the tip of his nose. for all his pompous bullshit, togami's still human, still a most very mortified human, if not for the fact that he's, bottom line, wet himself, but for having done so for an audience, and having done so because a cute boy smiled at him.

he has to ask himself- who're the ones he accused of having no self control, again? and if he could get any warmer, he thinks he'd combust.

apparently it can happen without the implosion of being; as soon as she lay next step near him, his face is a dozen blooming roses, and enoshima's a nasty, _nasty_ bitch. he'd flail his legs at her, except he's already regressed back a decade in maturity, he feels, so he stays put, and permits the grazing over his shoulder, down his cheek. enoshima grins wickedly at him, and then she yawns, and he's facing the wrinkles in the back of her top.

"guess you're all free to go now. hope you enjoyed your stay. ta-ta!"

" _hah?"_ kuwata gawks. "that's it? for real? you're letting us go?"

she jumps back into her tall-backed spot of utmost impressive status. "don't bust a nut over it. i just meant back into the school, dummy."

enoshima's a talent for spreading wildfire cross the pretty boys' cheeks- which, of kuwata's, puff in indignation. "hell, i know that."

"good!" her smile reaches her eyes. "i only expect the best from my perfect little cherubs. now kindly drag your asses out of here! you know you aren't supposed to be in here unless we're doing a trial."

"uh, enoshima, how are we supposed to-?"

" _don't_ question me, ya shit drip. i know what i'm doing!"

but naegi, the little shit drip he is- well, he _questions_ her. his wrists slide against each other. "but the...the _ropes-"_

to each hard oak armrest, she slams each a fist, dealing out a deck of glowers, and naegi's captured full house. "are you stupid? are you really, really, really, really, really, really _stupid?_ 'cause, it seems like it. since i'm sure i said not to question me. didn't i? didn't i say that?"

swallowing's a feat of a god; he nods just _slightly_ , nape of neck soaking in anxiety. enoshima crosses her arms under her chest, fixing him with flaming blue eyes.

"you know what, i think i change my mind! no- i _know_ i do."

naegi gasps, and kuwata hisses a short slur and a _nice going!_ , and togami hasn't said a word since the homicide of his dignity, but he's not the peachiest fellow to hear enoshima's new decision.

her hair puffs with each jaunting step, until she's right in front of the perpetrator, leaning and reaching and stretching over him, and naegi's lips quiver below his clenched eyes because her rack is two inches from them. she retracts, and he _breathes,_ and she's straightening a short length of rope between her hands, and his own are able to move sans restraint. he does so with hesitance. there's a catch, there's just got to be a catch.

"follow me."

and there it is. and there _he_ is, trailing her obediently while the others observe in quiet, puzzled horror. when she commands he crawl into her lap, he does so without question, because he'd really like to leave here with all his limbs attached.

"mmm...my precious little makoto," she hums, stroking away the bangs from his mousy face. "everyday you _insist_ on giving me attitude. what do you hope to gain from it, hm? think you'll win against me with some back talk?"

"e-everyday..?"

she tuts. "there he goes again, with the _questioning!_ always asking _questions!_ here's some advice, kiddo; just live in the moment. act now, ask later. make sense?"

naegi wants to ask why she's allowed to ask questions if he isn't, but then her tongue's in his mouth, and he's just a bit more than surprised.

"come _on,"_ she groans into his mouth. "i'm not in the mood for this. quit fighting it and _kiss me_ , god dammit!"

yet, he continues the struggle- thrashes so much, that she's no choice but to grip his cheeks between her fingers and draw his gaze to hers.

"i'm assuming you'd like to keep your head on your neck?"

naegi's eyes widen ten fractions, and he nods that head that he'd so like to keep, and so she releases him and so he moves to press his lips to hers. the spectators mask their disgusted astonishment with trembles of form. togami shifts his legs, because they're still wet and still uncomfortable. kuwata wiggles a bit, too, because he'd kind of like to put his pants back on at this point, but his wrists are still bound behind his exposed hips. he notices, at least, that togami's got the decency not to look at his half-hard on. he decides in return that he'll spare not glance to the dark spot around his thighs. instead, he'll stare, mesmerized, at the fact that naegi's just willingly kissed some broad who's just admitted to being behind the whole killing game bullshit. _willingly!_ he can't get over it, can't get over the way he rolls his mouth so sweetly to hers, more heated as the minutes flow, can't look past how he doesn't oppose to her peeling his jacket off. or his other jacket. or his undershirt. if kuwata weren't so hyperfocused on the raunchiness, he'd find time to wonder why the fuck this kid wears so many layers.

"e-enoshima, i-"

"you don't want to have sex?" she finishes for him, nails crawling hot up his scapula. "that hurts my feelings! you'd want to do me if i were that super special detective you're always following around! or, maybe, it's the idol you've got eyes for?"

he has no clue what _detective_ she's talking about, but he blushes at the mention of maizono, blushes at the fact that he's half naked and sitting in a model's lap. enoshima needn't be the detective she mocks to notice. "you're _such_ a teenage boy, makoto! don't think i didn't see your little bonerfest while i was down and dirty on leon's two incher, by the way."

" _hey-!"_

" _anyways_ ," cuts off the distant protest. she twirls a curl around an index finger, and naegi takes it to mean she's feeling indolent- a feeling he'd be in best interest of finding panacea to. "what's wrong with me, mako-cchi? am i too pretty? too tall? too smart, radiant, flawless?"

"n...no, no!" then he lies through his teeth, just to keep her placated. "there's nothing wrong with you, it's just-"

"don't even tell me you're not into girls! you tried that one yesterday, and ten minutes later you had me bent over the podium over there!" her hands cup her own face, drool niggling from the corner of her lip and face a creamy flush of lust.

"what? i never...i didn't-!"

" _ugh!_ i'm getting sick of explaining this every time!" her expression flips dramatically to once of vexation. "listen carefully, 'kay? i wiped you and all the other uglies' memories away, 'kay? and every time i feel like playing with any of you, i do it again, and then let you go and nobody ever knows anything ever happened at all, ' _kay?!_ well," she smirks, now, "nobody but me, of course. and i sure do savor these memories. _especially_ the ones where we're together."

"that's...that's insane..." he can't manage a blink, a move. "there's no way that can be true!"

kuwata pipes in again unprompted. "yeah! you expect us to believe that you've got some kinda special brain-altering ray gun, or somethin'?"

enoshima sinks in her seat. "if _only_ i could find a way to keep this whole spiel from vanishing." she perks up. "makoto, are you going to pound me, or should i release my aggression some other way?"

naegi collects himself a moment; he spends the silence in wonderment, over what anyone else would do in his position.

his position, one of offered ultimatum, one of consequences on either end.

his position, which, in the next minute, is called the wheelbarrow, if he remembers correctly.

enoshima's knees wrap backward around his waist, and his only view is of the back of her hair as he slams hot and thick and fast into her. he holds her gingerly by the thighs, panting with the latent exertion. enoshima claws for purchase at the sleek floor, and her porn-star moans make his head go airy.

from the side, kuwata can't help feeling slighted, and togami can't decide between jealousy and disgust. or, a third option of _rage_ presents itself, because, if all the psycho freak wanted was to bone naegi, why the actual, literal, manifested _fuck_ is he now sitting there in a mess of his own urine? honestly- he'd've preferred her saving him having to watch the scene unfolding right now before him, and, very minutely, he's grateful she'll clean it from the slate of his memory. _very_ _minutely_ expands to _thank the ever loving jesus fuck he won't have to remember any of this,_ when naegi hits her favorite spot just right, and her scream's enough to snap vertebrae. she mewls his name, mewls it like she has any fragment of the right to, and togami'd trade his social status for the chance to tame her lifeless.

"oh _,_ makoto! ma-makoto- _oooh, yes, yes_ _!"_ to say he's not enjoying himself'd be stretching veracity paper thin; girls are _gorgeous_ , and he's a difficult time concealing his affinity for most all of them he sees. same with most boys- really, he's got more affection in his heart than he knows what to do with, more than what's good for him. what's good for him, currently, is for certain _not_ thrusting his cock in and out of enoshima junko, as if she's earned his touch through her egregious behavior. but he figures, he may as well continue, because- because, well...because she'd hurt his friends if he stopped! that's right! that's why he's doing this at all. that's why he's groaning with every feel of her tight muscles around his dick, tipping his head back and moaning with such gusto as to send pulses accelerating.

"for god's sake, show some _decency,"_ togami nearly growls, to which he's pleased to see naegi falter to. the ravenous yelps enoshima snaps back with are much less contenting, only for the reason that they show she's too engrossed by having her chute stuffed up to notice he's made any remark at all. togami byakuya's not one to romance the idea of being ignored. neither does he adore her continuous shouts of _makoto, makoto, makoto!,_ and thinking about having to relive this hell once the sunrise peaks again is _sickening._ he glances to take in kuwata's current state, as it's uncharacteristic of him to be considered _quiet._ in one turn of his head, togami finds him gnawing deep into his bottom lip, silver stud rubbing against top teeth. _revolting._

even more is the sudden silence, zero moaning, zero hot breaths, zero whatever other repulsive sounds erupt from a short graceless fuck. naegi's come leaks from her when he pulls out, deprived of oxygen and all else, and she drops prone to the tile, indescribable pleasure jolting up her electric-fence bones.

naegi's not stupid; he takes a few seconds to dress himself, then darts off while she's still inebriated from her orgasm. naegi's not stupid, but neither is enoshima, and neither is the one who emerges silently from nonexistent shadows to catch him by the arms. naturally, he thrashes, for he's no clue who this stranger is, despite the fondness she fixes him with.

enoshima sighs as she stands on quivering legs. "so sad that you think i'm not on top of your routine by now, mako honey." she yawns, next, and tips fingers toward the duo by the exit. "take care of them for me, sis. he really took it out of me today."

ikusaba nods once, peering at naegi's expression of utter _what-the-fuck;_ her boots halt before the door at a snapping of tongue.

"make sure you three eat a nice breakfast tomorrow! i think i'll see which of you's the cutest puker!" she laughs her precious little angel chortle. "and rest well, makoto. being my personal sex slave can tire you out real quick."

each finger bobs once in a parting wave, legs tossed over the side of her tall hardwood throne. she watches greedily her sibling as she corrals the victims, leading them like furiously incredulous cattle to a presumable exit, though know they'll meet a destiny much less civil. over a shoulder, naegi casts a look to the mastermind, as if he could remember, as if he could keep himself from forgetting her face, her voice, the things she said and the way she'd moaned. to him- only to him, always for him -she spreads her lips around her teeth, smacks them to a palm and blows it his way. her eyes gleam with something unidentifiable in nature. something naegi swears solidly he will not, can not, let slip from his mind. something he yearns to know, and to be responsible for ending.

then she smiles again, smiles like nothing's wrong or weird or qualm worthy, and the glint vanishes with the fluttering shut of lids. 

he chooses not to question her, just this once.


End file.
